The Best Spanish Words

I feel like I should tell you the outcome of an earlier post entitled Lo siento. I followed through on the offering of an apology. And I'm glad I did it.

My wife helped me cobble together a few words of Spanish that I hoped, along with a forlorn look, would convey to some of our subcontractors my heartfelt regrets for blowing my cool last week.

I had been going to the house once or twice a day to check on progress, usually early in the morning on on my lunch break. But after my blow up I didn't go to the new house for two full days while the workers were there because I dreaded seeing those guys. I felt like a third grader on the school bus taking home an "F" on a spelling test. When finally I could put it off no longer, I went to the house and sought them out one by one.

My tongue tangled as I offered the Spanish apology, and my hands were hot with shame as I offered it out for a handshake. All three of the men shook my hand and smiled. One said, "De nada."

I found the last one quietly sanding the base board on the stair well. After my "speech" he said in broken English something to the effect of, "No problem, it happen to all person."

Latching on to his response, I tried to explain that I was tired, I was stressed, and so forth. He smiled and nodded like he understood, but he didn't. It was all lost in translation, but not from English to Spanish. It was lost in the translation from one economic strata to another. It was lost in the translation from my stress about a the color of my floor to his stress about making ends meet. It was lost in translation because there was no real reason for me to behave like a horse's ass.

I knew it was lost in translation so I gave up, and went back to the phrase I'd learned. Lo siento. I am to blame. Mea culpa.

He shrugged and went back to what he knew. "De nada." His eyes and slight smile told me that he got the message, so I quit.

The taste of grace and regret mixed in my mouth on the way home, oddly enough like new paint and the dust of wood being sanded. The words "de nada" are all at once bitter and sweet and they are the best Spanish words I know.

Lo siento

If you don't want to see the human side of a pastor, stop reading now.

Ok, you've been warned.

So I finished prepping the concrete floors for stain about 2am on Wednesday morning. If you've been keeping up, you'll remember that I was set back on the project because I injured my thumb on Monday and couldn't work with the concrete grinder very well.

On Wednesday at 8am I walked through the house with one of the subcontractors, pointing out to him the freshly prepped areas and stressing the importance of keeing them clean and free of paint, sheetrock mud, debris, and so forth. Apparently some things were lost in translation with my Spanish-speaking friend.

I worked at the church all day Monday and checked in on the house about 5pm. A quick walk-through revealed that the shower pan in the master bath was installed and that tile work was proceeding well. It also revealed that the carefully prepped floor in the master bath had not been so carefully treated - sheetrock mud was splattered everywhere in the room.

And I lost it.

I literally came unglued in an old-style red-neck hissy-fit that would've made the dysfunctional side of my family proud. I did a quick check and could count on one hand all the times I've lost it like this in my entire life. I just don't normally blow it like this.

I cursed. I yelled. I chewed out every worker in the house. Fortunately, none of them spoke enough English to really get what I was saying. They basically got this message: patron es loco.

I was so angry I even through one of my very best UNC hats on the floor. If you know me personally, that should be your biggest sign that there was a huge vergence in the force. Then I stormed out.

I'm going to learn from this, I know it.

First, I know that, in the words of Rob Bell, "This is really about that." "This" was not really about the mess. The mess could be cleaned up easily in a half hour or less. No one had committed an injustice against me, no one was sabatoging me, no one was trying to cause me more work intentionally. I was really angry about the whole process, the delays, the fact that we're in a rental house and have to move twice, and that I can't deliver a sleep-over party promised to the Brother who turns 10 today.

"This" was about "that" and the presenting issue was only a symptom, not the cause.

Second, I know that I have to apologize, probably in Spanish, to the people I blew it with yesterday. I'm dreading it. I woke up this morning nauseated by my memory of the blow up, literally sick to my stomach with remorse and contrition.

As readily as I can own my failure to myself (and ironically on a blog to God-knows-whoever-reader-you-are), I'm having trouble with the fact that I have to go to real people and say I'm sorry. A real apology has to be offered to real people, and I'm saddened at me because I'm discovering that deep down I have a dangerous hubris. I know that a reluctant apology is not truly an apology, so I'm praying that I get my heart behind my practical theology on this one.

Maybe you could pray, if you do such things, that I would do the right thing with the right motivation.